When Saxon lips were free to speak, when truth could find its way,
The fields were green, the hearth was warm, and none had cause to stray.
But now the keepers of the land have made a cunning plan,
To bind the tongues, to blind the eyes, and silence every man.
They call it peace, they call it law, they mask it with pretence,
Yet whisper words of warning now, and face the consequence.
For speech once stood as England’s shield, her sword against the night,
But now the blade is turned within, hushed voices fear the light.
A man may see the garden burn, the roses choked with weeds,
Yet if he names the creeping blight, they call him vile for deeds.
And if he warns of wolves that prowl and sheep that disappear,
The watchmen come, not for the beasts, but him who spoke too clear.
They write new laws in twisted script where justice bends and sways,
Where truth must kneel and bow its head, lest it offend or blaze.
No word may pass unmeasured now, no question may be asked,
The lion’s roar is but a sigh, behind the iron mask.
But what becomes of England’s pride when speech is cast in chains?
What fate awaits the man who stands where silence now remains?
For lions caged do not forget, and those who weave deceit,
Should mind the day the bars break wide, and justice finds her feet.
(By John Shenton)